And I Don't Want To Go Home Right Now
by HollyeLeigh
Summary: CS Hiatus Challenge Prompt - 'Iris' by the Goo Goo Dolls: Modern AU; Killian Jones had not left his apartment in two years, four months, and thirteen days. Not since he'd finally decided to shut himself away from the whole blasted world after a freak accident had left him without his hand, and for all practical purposes, his heart.


_**And I Don't Want To Go Home Right Now / CS + Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls**_

 _ **Rated T / ~2300 word count / props to winterbaby89 for being my second set of eyes on this!**_

* * *

Two years, four months, and thirteen days.

Killian Jones had not left his apartment in two years, four months, and thirteen days. Not since he'd finally decided to shut himself away from the whole blasted world after a freak accident had left him without his hand, and for all practical purposes, his heart.

It hadn't been immediate. He'd tried to move forward. Tried to look past the pitying looks and empty platitudes. Tried to face an office full of their co-workers. Tried to accept the invitations to socialize from their friends.

His friends.

There was no _they_ any longer.

And if there was no _they_ , then he saw no point in there being a him.

So he'd walked out on all of it. New city. New job (one that he could do remotely from his apartment). New apartment. _No_ new friends.

In fact the only people he sees these days are the delivery persons from the grocers and various take-out establishments, and his landlord and lady (a blonde headed do-gooder and his pixie haired wife).

Truth be told Killian could do with even less interactions than that even.

He liked his solitude. Liked the quiet. Well, _liked_ probably isn't the right word.

He didn't need the company of actual people. In the quiet and solitude he had more than enough in the way of company. Memories. What-ifs. Regrets. Haunting specters of what-could-have-beens and never-will-bes.

No, liked wasn't the right word...deserved was probably more accurate.

And so it went. For two years and almost four months before something finally changed.

It wasn't that it was a big change. The most significant ones rarely are. Just a small, innocuous observation he'd made one night through the end of his spyglass. The one he used when the draw to somehow engage with the world beyond his four walls became too much to ignore.

He wasn't a true voyeur, per se. He didn't peek into people's windows, too often. Most people had the sense to keep their blinds and curtains closed when privacy was required, anyway.

Mostly he'd watch the people on the street below or on the roof top terraces of the other apartment buildings surrounding him.

Which is what he'd been doing when he saw her the first time.

Bent over with wracking sobs, she had burst through the rooftop access door on the adjacent building quite suddenly, and with such force he'd heard the grating and slamming of the heavy, metal door through his open window. The same open window that had granted entrance to the sounds of her anguish carried on the evening's light breeze.

An all too familiar sound. A sound he'd tried to shut out for over two years. A sound that almost made him slam that infernal window shut, but instead he allowed it to wash over him. Allowed it to whisper truth to him.

The truth that this was the sound his own heart had tried to release for over two years. The same heart he had refused to acknowledge even still beat within his chest. For if it couldn't beat for _her_ , then what purpose did it serve?

 _An essential purpose,_ it called to him. _Just because I am broken, doesn't mean I can not still work for you!_

And so he gave in. Gave in to pain, the anguish, the bitterness, and the rage he'd suppressed ever since that horrible day. Gave over to the tears and added his own rending sobs to those that still filtered in through the window.

He raged, and yelled. Swore at the universe, at himself, and at _her_ for leaving him. Exhausted every pent up frustration, every unshed tear, every sense of injustice he'd held against the world, and slowly gave over to a new sensation. One he'd never thought he'd ever experience again.

Peace.

For the first time in over two years Killian felt peace.

And something else….

Something that had nothing to do with the internal workings of his heart, mind, and soul, and everything to do with a stinging sensation coursing through his knuckles. He looked down to see them bruised and bloodied, unaware that he'd even struck something in is grief induced rage.

 _Nothing like bleeding to remind yourself that you're alive,_ he mused as went to tend to his hand.

It was only after he'd bandaged himself up (a feat that still remained difficult given the lack of a second hand) that he remembered the woman who had inadvertently forced him off the ledge of constraint and repression. Picking up his spyglass once more he was relieved to see that she was still atop that roof. Even more relieved to see that she too had worked past her sorrow and seemed more at peace with whatever situation had led her to such a perch that night.

He continued to study her for several long moments. Stunningly beautiful, even with the blotchy patches of residual emotion upon her face. Her long, light-colored hair (difficult to distinguish the exact color under the dim lights of the roof top) fluttered on the breeze around her. Her strong stance communicated a toughness, while the protective way she held her arms around herself exposed her vulnerability.

Unable to turn his gaze from her, Killian watched the intriguing woman until she finally retreated back into the building, taking a bit of himself with her.

He owed her a great debt. One she'd likely never know about. One he'd never be able to repay.

He'd seen something in her that night. A kinship. A knowledge that she was no stranger to brokenness and suffering. But something else as well…

A resolve.

A resolve that whatever she had faced, whatever had tried to best her and force her to crumble wasn't going to win.

She was a tough lass.

The next night he sat in his usual chair, staring through his spyglass when he caught sight of her again. A strange sensation tugged at his lips and it took him a moment to realise that it was a smile. How long had it been since he'd done that?

She was burdened with something again, but this time it was not an emotional upheaval, but some sort of equipment she was attempting to get through the door and set up on a raised platform. A keyboard, he realized.

Several minutes passed as she situated everything to her liking before she sat before the keys and began to play. Killian stood and rushed to the window, throwing it open in the hopes that he might catch some of the melody.

And that's how it started. Night after night she'd make her way up to the rooftop terrace with her keyboard and pour out all manner of pathos from the darkest of her dredges to the most soaring of elations.

And with every song, every note, every lyric he'd been able to make out over the expanse between them, Killian found himself all the more captivated by her.

His days were spent in contemplation of everything from the mundane to the remarkable. How did she take her coffee? What kinds of books she did like to read? Did she like to read books, or was she more of a tv viewer? Clearly she loved and had an aptitude for music, was she in the musical field as an occupation? What color were her eyes? Did she know how endearing she was when she crinkled her nose at herself when she hit a wrong note?

He found himself wondering more visceral things as well. What it would be like to touch her, to hold her. Like heaven, probably. What would his name sound like coming from her lips? Rapture, he guessed.

Why was he torturing himself? It's not as if she knew who he was. No one did. Not anymore.

He'd been watching her for weeks without her permission. She'd most likely be angry at the knowledge. At best she'd yell at him, at worse she'd throw him off the building.

Either way though...he couldn't help but think it would be worth it. Worth the chance to simply speak to her. To let her know what she's done for him.

Sure, he still hadn't left the apartment, but he'd stepped back into life in other ways since that fateful night.

First, it was an e-mail sent to his brother and a few friends back home. E-mails became phone calls, and phone calls had become video chats. For so long he hadn't wanted the world to see him, didn't think any of them would understand. Didn't think any of them would care.

But they did care, and they hadn't stopped caring.

And they weren't the only ones.

The day after his tirade he'd had to call upon his landlord to help him fix the hole he'd punched into the wall. Where normally he wouldn't offer any more words than would be necessary between them, that day he found himself more inclined to engage. This openness had snowballed into now almost daily visits from either David (his landlord) or David's wife, Mary Margaret. Visits he once would have rebuffed - firmly - but now found himself eager for as he hadn't been aware of just how starved for human companionship he'd been.

Though patient, and clearly trying to understand his reluctance, everyone he had admitted back into his previously lonely existence still attempted to persuade him to leave the apartment. Something he just couldn't bring himself to do.

At least...not until now.

Two years, Four months, and thirteen days since he'd shut himself away within those 750 square feet, Killian Jones was preparing himself to leave his apartment.

Why?

Why else?

Because of her.

His angel. His siren. His savior.

Because she hadn't come to the rooftop the last two nights, and he'd feared that it was over. Sooner or later he knew that it would be; her rooftop serenades that soothed his weary soul and offered him a measure of catharsis he never thought possible.

But tonight she was there.

And he didn't want to miss out on the opportunity in case it never came again.

It took longer than he'd planned. Almost a full half hour to simple step over the threshold and out into the hallway. Another twenty minutes to make his way down the five flights of stairs. It wasn't until he'd hit the street that he truly knew what panic was.

Eventually, though, he'd made it. Sure, his heart was about to pound its way out of his chest and his palms were slick with nerves, but he was there. Just on the other side of the access door that led out to the rooftop. Her rooftop.

He could hear the gentle melody of one of his favorites, and pushed the door open after several steadying breaths.

Before he could even fully walk through the door he heard the music stop and his eyes snapped up to meet her shocked expression.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, lass," he offered hesitantly, suddenly feeling foolish for just showing up. He'd come this far, however, and he meant to see it through. "My name's Killian. Killian Jones."

"I know," she answered unexpectedly.

"You do?" His own dose of shock and confusion coursing through him.

"I asked Mary Margaret about you."

"Why?" he asked, tabling the question of how the lass knew his landlady for the moment.

"Because I was curious about you. I hope that's okay."

"It's fine, love," he assured, a sense of wonder and awe filling him at the realization that she had perhaps been as intrigued with him as he had been with her. "I want you to know who I am. That's why I'm here. But why did you ask Mary Margaret about me? How did you even know there was a me to ask about?"

"I saw you that night," she confessed sheepishly, and his awe and wonder turned to cold dread.

She saw him that night?

The night he'd finally let go and fought back at his demons? The night he'd unburdened his soul with screams and curses and punches. The night he'd finally laid _her_ , _them,_ to rest and allowed for his heart to beat once more.

The night he believed he could live again. Could love again. Because of her.

"What's you name, love?"

"Emma," she replied. "Emma Swan."

Emma.

It sounded exactly like what her name should be. Sounded better than any other name he could have dreamed up for her. It sounded like home.

"You're shaking," she said after a few moments of silence, stepping forward to look him over, concern etched on her exquisite face.

Green.

Her eyes were green.

"Aye," he responded. "Have been ever since I left the flat."

"Why?"

"Because I haven't left it in over two years."

She just nodded. Her eyes never leaving his. She didn't seem surprised by that piece of information, and then he remembered...she knew his landlady.

He flinched when she grabbed his hand, unused to the physical contact of others. She led him over to one of the benches on the terrace and they sat there together. Sat there for hours. Talking, not talking, laughing, smiling, maybe a little bit of crying, and sometimes just sitting. Silent. With one another.

It startled him to see the soft glow of dawn appearing on the horizon. Had they really stayed out there all night together?

A melancholy stirred within him. He didn't want to go home. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

He looked down at where their fingers were laced together and marveled once more at the turn his life had taken. Once, not too very long ago, he thought everything in his life was made to be broken, but now…

Killian looked into Emma's gaze just as she leaned into him. Her lips pressed gently against his own, and all he could taste was this moment. All he could breath was this promise of life.

Yeah, he really didn't want to go home right now.


End file.
